


The Fighter

by IronPanda



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: A bit of fluff here and there, A sort of emotional ride, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bilbo POV, Boxer!Thorin, Like characters, M/M, MMA fighting, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possibly tragic, Professor!Bilbo, Romance, Sexual Content, Subtle hints of homophobia, ambiguous - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-09 10:17:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IronPanda/pseuds/IronPanda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin is a boxer, it's in his blood. Bilbo is an English professor who runs every other Thursday and stays inside with his record player on most evenings.</p><p>Bilbo feels like, deep down, they really weren’t supposed to be together. He is the tranquil steady rain shower, and Thorin is the hot autumn lightning storm.</p><p>And yet that is his fighter, his lover, his Thorin, on the ground not moving. And he’s trying to remember how they got there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have much description on this. It's kind of an open ended story, the rest of the chapters will lead up to this point and maybe the end will tell what happens. It's kind of like going backwards. I've been working on this for a while, and contemplating posting it as a one-shot or longer.
> 
> Enjoy, and I hope you don't hate me too much. I got the idea from The Fray song of the same name, but that ending is definitely tragic.
> 
> I don't own the Hobbit nor the movie. Just the story idea.

**Prologue**

_Bilbo wraps his lover’s hands with practice._

The announcer’s voice booms through the rowdy stadium in a welcome of the 20th LMC, as always Bilbo is jostled amongst the others he sits by. He wraps his arms across his chest.

_"Just come home, please," his lips tremble against the other's for another shared breath._

“Round one!” The referee announces. Bilbo swears he just blinks and it’s round two, then it’s three- and someone pats his back as if they are so sure of a win. The fighter seems to swing with all his might. Four, five, he holds his next inhale till the seventh.

_“Don’t doubt me.” His lover says, in such a strict order as if Bilbo has offended him._

He knew it would happen before his lover even did. Bilbo watches a fist collide with a jaw. He watches his fighter's head snap back, and legs stumble. More blows hit that once powerful form. 

The scream tears itself from his heart, but the name chokes in his throat.

And he flings himself down there despite the cheers, despite the referee, the coaches, right as the loser falls.

He knows that defeated body and will continue to beyond any other moment he can imagine. 

_He traces his finger down a dark haired torso, he tries to memorize raised scars, a long cut near the left of the ribcage; he does as much as he is allowed to in new quiet fascination of this unfamiliar territory._

His heart thuds barely clinging to reality as the match was declared over. His mind swims trying its best to panic against his wishes. The large victor stands above them all on his selfish podium, raising bloodied black gloves.

_He cheers, the loudest of them all, a cheek-abusing grin graces his face against his will: it’s relief, pride, and adrenaline all at once. His fighter raises bloody red fists with a roar of invincibility._

Bilbo climbs folding his small body under the ropes, slipping by unnoticed. He pushes past the white haired coach, and ignores the gigantic size difference between himself and the victor. 

He glares daring anyone to stop him. The blond falls to his knees, and lifts his lover's head to his lap. The smell of salty copper is palpable enough to taste and all he can take in.

The long black hair is a halo on his thighs.

A pale forehead is sticky with drips of blood, an imperfect sacrifice. An unneeded sacrifice.

_The sunlight brakes through the window on a lazy afternoon, he twirls the other’s charcoal wavy lock around his finger distractedly. He tries to read his book, but he is too encompassed in the moment of his lover's steady sleepy breathing, and the head that occupies his lap._

 

He’s still breathing, slow and steady. That gorgeous face purples, streaked with blood, and more bruises than Bilbo could ever get used to. His fingertips graze an inflamed square jaw.  
The lover cracks open his eyes at the touch, startling blue-

And often dark, swimming with immeasurable passion at moments of heat. Even as they swell there's still a soul there ablaze like lightning.

_Opaque cerulean eyes watch him move around their home with unwavering possession, and he enjoys the simple sensation._

Bilbo chokes back a sob and a large hand struggles, brushing knuckles against his cheek. The glove is already falling off, the tape ragged; and he takes the much larger grip, starts re-wrapping the scarlet and split knuckles, round and around just like that afternoon.

The same afternoon he begged his fighter 'not to go today' with a kiss. 

_“He won’t be able to handle it.” His lover’s best friend grunts when he thought Bilbo couldn’t hear. But he hears, for he is wandering the large house alone the entire time, a strange inconsistent figure compared to the- almost wild- boisterous family._

These slow two minutes are all their own. He brings his forehead to the glistening skin, red smears and dusts his straw bangs. 

“Thorin,” his voice croaks and his cheeks are tepid and wet by this point.

“I know.” The words are a hoarse wind from the fighter's throat.

The marble face cracks a smile despite all the pain he must be in. It's too brilliant for such an ugly moment. 

"If you know then why didn't you just stay with me?" Was he not enough? Had Thorin not called him his jewel? His reason for sanity? His core reason of not being in a frenzy of; flesh, fists, and blood.

 

_"I wasn't meant to be alone, if you're still here," he says one night- still wrapped in his partner's thick black sheets, his back is pressed against a hot slick chest._

_“So poetic at this hour, jewel.” A velvet chuckle rumbles against his spine._

_Rigid chords of muscled arms cloak his much softer frame. Rough calloused hands rub circles in the pliable skin of his stomach. He squirms._

_"I'm serious."_

_"I know." A chin rests on the crook of his shoulder. Then a mouth presses a gentle kiss to the exposed skin._

 

He combs his hand through the matted long locks, and people start to surround them, testing his lover's breathing, trying to get Bilbo out of the way with weakly disguised suggestions.

He ignores them and leans forward again, no matter who might see. Thorin's eyes have long closed. He lays like a big broken doll -with a beating clockwork heart- against the too frigid blue ground.

_They meet at a lounge that has blue lighting and loud house music, Thorin approaches like a slow moving jaguar with sharp glowing irises and a grim disposition._

_Bilbo is smitten. Ensnared by a demanding voice and surly brow despite his better intentions._

_They aren’t what either expects, and it makes the puzzle all the more tumultuous and wonderful._

Damn his parents’ side-glances back when they started dating.

Damn his lover's family for letting him do this. For encouraging this business, for putting it above all else. He wants to blame them, even if he has come to be a part of their strange puzzle.

 

_“This him?” One of the large men says as he gestures to Bilbo. “He’s different.” The tone makes the blond want to disappear._

_He is so nervous about being accepted by the ‘most important people’ in his fighter’s life that he nearly breaks the buttons on his soft cashmere- but when his lover puts a heavy arm around him the entire world becomes easier. And he can breathe again._

 

He kisses the cracked, bloodied lips, not prepared if it was the last time. 

_“I will come home with the title.” Thorin says leaning in for another kiss. Bilbo looks away unable to return the confident smile, and he accepts the fleeting soft feeling. “Don’t doubt me.” The words are said softer this time._

_He is a champion, a winner, ‘The Oakenshield’ boxer, and he is Bilbo’s. Bilbo clenches the roll of tape in his hand, his last link to the retreating figure._

He is pulled away by the crook of his arm. People in blue swarm past like twisted wingless angels. 

_Too many times is he tempted to throw away the beige roll of wrist wrappings that sits on their nightstand. After a particularly nasty fight where Thorin came out conscious by the skin of his teeth, Bilbo sits for an hour just staring at the strewn gloves and roll on counter surface._

_He would like to at least pretend it would do something._

It was too far and too cold.

He is afraid he won’t be let on the ambulance. And he isn't. So he hitches a ride with ‘the coach’ and the family. Detached from the flurry of madness he opts for staring out a window the entire ride.

 

He couldn't be there in the ICU. So he stayed in the waiting room, curled up in a ball with no book to read, and no desire to talk to the others there. He did not welcome comfort, nor empathy.

_To think, not too long ago their eyes were wary and callous towards the ‘little peace-lovin’ professor’. When he debates with them, they say he doesn’t understand, they disregard his ‘bookish’ fears. Oh but he does understand, and he’s just a little selfish._

 

He’s a small blond man alone in a big city hospital with drips of blood drying on his powder blue sweater- nearing middle age, with eyes barely drying, and the final name on the list of visitors. 

He tries to remember how it got to this point.

_Bilbo thinks as he stares at their nightstand the clock glows 3:15 a.m, “I’ve given him my all when shall I get it in return? It’s all for him, he’d never forgive me if I made him stay, but it’s all for him.”  
“And me.“ _

He’s trying to remember if it’s all worth it.

The only thing he understood was that he felt so cold without his Thorin.

Maybe they were meant to be lonely.


	2. First Patch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coffee, tea, rain, and patterns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a very specific playlist for this chapter, I think it did something. And I really appreciate all the feedback from the last chapter, thank you!

A professor should not be at a lounge where his students might appear. No matter it’s called the Stardust lounge and may be for some older souls, there was plenty of that ‘house’ music for the lot of them. 

‘Come with us’ Primula and Lobelia had said. ‘Dance with us’ they said though they had come with their own partners. 

Dear god, he was the gay best friend wasn’t he? Sitting there with his prim vest and blue bowtie, his curls were tamed enough and the martini in between his fingers was draining quickly. He could see Primula not too far off with her fiancé Drogo, they are close on the dance floor somehow enjoying the music. She blossomed nice in her lilac flower printed summer dress, both her and Lobelia had looked like catches their lovers would want to hold on to.

At least they had bought him drinks. He was on this plush couch, under these strange neon blue lights that flitter like expansive globes above him, with his legs crossed and phone in his lap, though there was hardly anything to check because it would be a waste of his data plan.

This lounge, with its dark walls, was made for couples. It entertained a variety of men of all shapes, and women with all sorts of stylish too tall heels. Bilbo sipped at his martini on his perch of chosen solitude and did what he did best: observed.

“Bilbo why don’t you dance?” Lobelia shoved another jolly rancher martini in his hand and tilted her head. Her hair is gathered in a pleasant simple bun and yet a single curly string escaped its high wrappings.

“Because dancing is something I don’t trifle with anymore now that I’ve gotten to this point in life.” Where he was a teacher of college students rather than one of the bright -eyed bunch. 

“Baggins, your pretentious is showing.”

“I’m fine here Lobelia, go-go have your frottage with Otho. Don’t let Primula outdo you.”

“Hmph. Well if it helps any,” The woman leans in. “Mister over there with the Norse god hair has been staring at you like a piece of meat for I uh, dunno about ten minutes. “ Lobelia’s words are to be taken with a grain of salt, for she had a notorious reputation of playing devil’s advocate and stringing hyperboles.

But he followed her line of sight anyways. Bilbo’s eyes focused on a man who had not mastered the art of subtlety. There is a strong gaze under a deep brow lit by the lounge, he did have ridiculously long locks, and the sheer size of him could probably break Bilbo in half. 

He twitched his nose and turned back to his new martini, cheeks warmed by the sweet liquor. Not my type, he said to himself. Though the man wore a very tasteful black button up, and some regular dark jeans that fit him very nicely- just a writer’s observation.

Time to think of the papers he should have graded last night but he dreaded to read the terrible last minute interpretations of _Catch-22_ from his English 1102 class. 

The next time he looked up the man had begun to move. He approached like a stalking jaguar, it may be the trick of the lighting but his eyes glowed a bright strange blue. Bilbo worried his lower lip under his teeth and then he had taken another sip from the small black straw. 

Surely the man was not headed over here. 

He turned as much as he could towards the dance floor.

“Can I buy you a drink?” Oh have mercy, the man’s voice was deep, and smooth, rugged as his looks and had Bilbo downing the rest of his martini before he turned to face the much taller presence.

“Ah um, yes sure,” English Bilbo, he reminded himself, the heat pleasant in his chest from the rush of light alcohol. The man doesn’t smile but he nods and heads to the bar.

Ok, so Bilbo was lying to himself, the stranger may not be what he’s dated in the past, but that’s because he hasn’t really attracted such an…attractive man. Redundant contemplation be damned, he hasn’t dated a man over five ten, nor with such a clear mass of muscle. Or hair.

It was like one of the statuesque models from a vampire movie, with an elegant hooked nose and unearthly blue eyes.

Is this man a vampire? Ready to suck an English professor’s blood under the pretense of a horrible written fantasy novel .

The man must be the silent type, for they sipped their drinks and nothing else transpired. Bilbo tried looking elsewhere, in case the man has decided up close the professor just wasn’t worth another drink or word. At least he got an Appletini out of it (Was his taste in alcohol that obvious?).

“You don’t seem like you care for dancing.” The man said, after a good three minutes, as he peered down at him while holding his small glass of something obviously strong and bitter and manly.

“Oh um no, not really my style and all.” 

“Then what is?”

“Really a good tea and some book.”

“You seem the type,” Bilbo looked up at the man with a raised eyebrow. “N-Not in a, ehm,” The man cleared his throat and muttered something under his breath. “What I mean is would you want to leave here then?”

“Oh oh, um I’m not one really for-“ Don’t say it scolded a voice in the back of his mind. “One night stands if that is what this is-“ Why are you turning down the vampire?

“No, you interest me, and the music doesn’t.”

“What about –people - if you came with people that is- Wow I am an English professor where are my words?” The last half was a slip of the tongue.

The man perked up, and by that Bilbo thought he saw the stony handsome face brighten a little, could be the flash of green however.

“They are busy. There is this café across the street it’s twenty four hours if you would like to go.”

Was this person real? That may not be wise, to leave with someone he didn’t know but his headache from the drinks and bass had grown, and his more adventurous portion of his brain whispered ‘yes’.

“Sure, might as well,“ Bilbo shrugged, and he shot a text to Prim because if he were to die she’d know where he went.

The café was quaint, but smelled of heavy smoke and had mostly night owls of the young kind (and he did recognize a student from his Fiction Workshop there, it had been time to play invisible and awkward.) The round mahogany tables were painted grunge with splatters of grey and their center pieces were folded paper flowers inside of witty mugs.

“Thorin,” The man said, and Bilbo can get a better look at the impassive face from the yellow incandescent lights. He looked around the professor’s age, and even taller with easy shadows cast over the angles of his jaw, nose and brow.

“Bilbo Baggins,” He responded as they’re handed their take-out cups of coffee. “I must say I’ve never been asked from a lounge to go out for coffee in the same night before, what possessed you to think of the idea? Not that I am ungrateful.”

Thorin met his gaze “You were the only one there wearing a bowtie and with a stubborn air to not enjoy yourself. I empathized. Plus you’re good looking in an unconventional way.” 

Bilbo tugged, in an unconscious motion, at his bowtie and the blush had risen up his neck with speed and unwelcomed grandeur. “Oh.” 

 

From then Bilbo learned Thorin spoke methodical he said what came to mind, sometimes regretted it, often lost the art of subtlety within words, and had the most unnerving eye contact.

Somehow they exchanged phone numbers after Thorin’s friends had apparently begun looking for him,and Bilbo’s cell phone burned with a desire that he could not express to his friends by the end of the night.

Silence and coffee was their first date. 

Later that night he got a text message. 

_‘Do you know Farthings Park?’- Blue eyed Norse god._ (Bilbo tended to name contacts based upon features he remembered of them best.)

 _‘I know of it, it’s not too far from where I live, why?’_ Bubbles stirred faster than he could blend the sugar in the hot bottom of his tea, his typing had been quick and embarrassingly excited. 

 

A walk in the park was their next date. Along a brown, pebbled path, they stayed close together, a nice overcast kept away the heat of the sun. There were plenty of trees, Bilbo would always remember how green the leaves of the trees were, how fresh the park smelled despite being at the heart of the city, and how powerful the wind whipped at them. 

“A walk?” Bilbo asked when they had finally got in a decent gait. He had seen Thorin park not too far off in one of the public parking lots, the man had a sleek black mustang, must’ve been a couple years old and everything on it was dark to the tinting. Nothing practical, but it matched image the writer had attempted to construe.

“You seem the simple type.” Thorin explained, he was wearing a nice graphic t-shirt, some worn jeans, and his long locks were pulled back at the bottom of his neck. Bilbo, for once, felt over dressed and yet in lacking regality at the same time with his short sleeve button up, casual slacks, and oxfords. 

“Tell me about yourself.” His date demands.

“Well I’m an English Professor-”

“Do you write?”

Bilbo glared halfhearted at the interruption, the other smiled- a little one- definitely abashed. “I had to for my Masters and PHD, and I still do, every day when I’m not grading or reading my student’s work.” He was working on an experimental short story collection where each story is interlaced by one ideal, in between student business of course. “What about you?”

“I train.” Thorin said it without hesitance. Bilbo wanted to call out the cryptic statement, but the sky decided to open up them as they rounded the top corner of the park. The negative space between them was slim and Bilbo had been tempted to close the gap- when the first few droplets fell, fat, and they hit his forehead to make it’s way to the tip of his nose. 

He looked up, the overcast had transformed to a dark cool gray tone. “I don’t live too far from here.”

“You don’t mind?” Thorin asked as the droplets had begun to hit harder.

Bilbo was suddenly glad he did not bring his usual writing notebook with him(He was too nervous at coming off as socially inept if he seemed more preoccupied with his little writings rather than the date itself.) “Unless you want our time cut short-” Please don’t “It might be best to find some shelter, fast and familiar.”

He glanced back at the taller man with a challenging shrug as the shoulders of his shirt became heavy with water. 

They ran as quick as they could. Bilbo could not see through the sheet of water and it was miserable feeling and yet curious. The rain prickled at his skin, it didn’t sting and right as they neared his familiar green door he slowed to pick out his keys. Thorin was not fairing well as his hair stuck to his mid- back as well as his shirt.

 

“I’m sorry.” Thorin said when they got in the chilled home. “I should have checked the weather.”

“No, no it’s quite alright.” Bilbo shuffled away to grab towels from his cabinet. He handed Thorin one of the nicer ones, which the soaked man took with a grateful nod. “I’m kind of glad it happened.”

He received a familiar questioning look.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been caught in the rain, usually I’ve got my umbrella. Rain is horribly symbolic in every piece of literature so I’m sometimes fascinated by it.”

“It’s a bother.”

“I don’t mind so much,” Bilbo removed the blue towel from his head, sure his curls were no longer tamed by pomade and instead mussed. His clothes were still sticky with warmth and heavy water.

 

“Do you want a robe, so I can put your shirt in the dryer at least? I may have extra-Umph uh, you c-could have- waited.” He had turned to Thorin, after he draped the towel on his shoulder, only to see a bare back. The man was a mass of defined muscles, some fresh bruises lie on his body, scars, and from only his back Bilbo could see the shift of each part, between the etched shoulder blades to the curved spine, and the large runic tattoo that fell into sharp angles like an upside down pyramid. They looked like chain links, ancient Viking inspired, and the dark blue glistened from the rainwater.

“I could use one,” Thorin pulled the towel over his shoulders, and bless him, turned to face Bilbo, ruined tee in his hands.

Not wanting anymore temptation the professor scurried away in light of the fact that if he drooled it would not be proper.

A green robe for himself, shirts in the dryer, and he pulled out a patchwork robe from the furthest corner of his rather large closet. It was a big enough size, he hoped, nothing in this home would fit the other man. 

In sudden inspiration on his way back he set his steel kettle on a stove eye. He does have a guest, some tea may warm them just enough.

“Here you go,” Bilbo tried looking elsewhere when he pushed the material in Thorin’s arms.

“Thank you,” Thorin examined his robe with his dark eyebrow raised. “Looks like something my grandmother would have made during her obsession of- funny patterns.”

Bilbo pretended to sniff in insult. ‘”Well you won’t find a finer robe experience.”

 

The tea kettle whistled from the kitchen and Bilbo was off to steep something a bit more appropriate.

“Do you have a preference for tea?”

“No.” Came the muffled reply, and Bilbo decided to use one of his Matè Chais in that case. 

“Your towel.” His guest said from behind him and Bilbo jumped but turned to take the object. 

“I do believe you’re doing this on purpose now.” He accused, seeing the robe hardly closed over the man’s chest, allowing enough of a peek of the dark hair.

“Is it working?”

How blunt. “In that _funny looking_ robe I don’t know. I’m still determining if the color brings out your eyes.” Bilbo held out a teacup for the other man. 

He noted the scarred knuckles, healed over skin but it still looked like it had been split in many ways, rough hands. Thorin’s been in a fight or two it seemed. He met Thorin’s gaze and saw that small single cornered smile again.

“I’ve got a couple new stories for my workshop tomorrow to read, if you don’t mind we can sit in the living room until the rain lets up, maybe turn on the tv, listen to some music- and oh are you hungry? I have food, I tend to have food, a variety, you should try these pastries I have. Are you allergic to blackberries?” He shoved the second teacup at his guest and started pulling out some blackberry tarts from the fridge, a small plate.

“No.”

Bilbo paused. “No- what?”

“I’m not allergic to blackberries.” Thorin’s single cornered (smart –ass) smile spread wider in amusement, and Bilbo had elbowed him lightly. 

“Come lets have tea and tarts then.” Despite his height he ushered his taller ‘date’ out to the rusty gold walls of the living room.

 

Thorin ended up watching some sport on television, while Bilbo sat crossed legged next to him on his plaid loveseat. They devoured what was left of the tarts, and Thorin’s tea sat, doused in sugar, halfway done. Bilbo was on his second cup.

After a couple minutes Bilbo asked if he could put on some music.

“No, go ahead, it’s a repeat match.” Thorin didn’t watch the television much in favor of making Bilbo uncomfortable with his stark blue eyes it seemed.

And Bilbo looked up to the screen and it was a rather violent boxing match gong on, those type of sports always seemed so, intimate and made him queasy. He reached for the glass surfaced end table to set on the last record he had been listening to.

“You have a record player.”

“Better sound quality.” Bilbo set the needle on some modern jazz. “So do you like that sport?”

“Well enough.” Thorin had set it on mute, and instead turned his body towards the English professor. 

The itch of his stare made Bilbo set down the papers, because as much as he wanted to critique at the moment, his mind was too distracted to let him.

Their conversations danced from tangent to tangent instead under the sweet rhythm of a cello. 

Then came the first piece of the puzzle that was Thorin. “I box, MMA, professionally. I have since I hit puberty.” They had been talking, or more Bilbo had been rambling about passions versus hobbies.

“Oh um, that’s interesting. Do you like it?” Bilbo stuttered and stumbled, what does he ask a boxer? It at least explained the scars, the knuckles, and the muscle definition. And Thorin was close enough to smell the last remnants of cologne and plain rainwater, his presence heavy enough to mingle body heat.

“Well enough.” Thorin then asked what Bilbo was writing about, which was always a difficult topic to cross, and Bilbo could only spout out the general premise of the third short story in the collection.

And it was all so domestic he was rather put out Thorin had to leave his little home by some late point in the night. He stood by his door, hand on the cool round knob, as he let Thorin out. The man was out of the patchwork robe and wearing his recently dried shirt.

“Well it was still a nice date for its intentions.” Bilbo smiled, hesitant despite the last two hours they had spent talking.

“I would like to see you again, Do you teach tomorrow?”

“I have a three hour gap between classes.”

“Good we will meet for lunch then, I’ll call you?” Thorin looked so hopeful under the his stern exterior, maybe because his eyes were so open and almost readable.

“Yes,” The smile Bilbo received sent his insides to a giddy dance.

Thorin started down the direction of his parked car.

“By the way, that little trick of yours, it worked. Too well.” Bilbo added before he lost the gall and regressed into a blushing schoolboy again.

The taller man angled back to face Bilbo, his form shadowed and wrapped under the bright yellow illuminated lamppost.

“I’ve never had a finer experience.” Thorin’s voice was as sly and guttural as the look on his face. It made the professor weak kneed, and his heart had the beginnings of thread poking in and out neat and even.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the insight into the beginnings of their relationship, next chapter Bilbo learns what it is to be a fighter's lover.


	3. Stitching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandwiches, bright lights, and gloves.

They started meeting for lunch after the first night Thorin had slept over. That was three weeks in their relationship.

"What is that?" Bilbo eyed what looked like two ravaged triangles with something oozing out and a half eaten banana.

Thorin looked down. "Peanut butter and jelly, and a banana."

"Really- stop it." Bilbo swatted at the large hand that reached for his nice assortment of guava filled pastries. "Ok that is sad looking, did you make that?"

Thorin held up the limp pieces of bread. "Always have."

"No from now on I'm bringing you lunch, I have plenty of food and really it's better than you picking off of me. No wonder you came over for dinner the last five nights." Bilbo scolded as set out each small container and removed their tops in order.

Five weeks later and somehow Bilbo hadn’t turned into a cynic. Instead he turned into one of _those_ a person who brings lunch to their significant other in between breaks, a person sitting in a too long honeymoon phase. He walked everywhere, including this moment, where Thorin’s gym is but a couple blocks from the university and (Bilbo has had enough of Masters students having stress panic attacks over their thesis in the midst of a simple conversation) he needed a to stretch his legs.

It was a little daunting, this was the first time he would meet Thorin inside rather than them meeting outside and then heading a direction that seemed most fit for the moment.

The day was warm enough with the sun just peeking between the wisp white clouds, and the breeze lofty enough for him to keep his thin brown sweater on. 

Durin’s Weight Gym and Training Facility. Yellow letters, sliding glass doors and opaque people sized windows that must hide a high class fitness center Bilbo would even be tempted to buy a membership for. If he didn’t prefer running every other Thursday.

‘Family business, fair enough.’ He thought as he entered. The smell was fresh , but there will always been a twinge of sweat in a gym, and there is no reception desk. Just different hallways, a big room for elliptical machines, and to the right was a sign that said. ‘Training rooms’

Thorin had said it should be simple enough, and he strode under white iridescent lights his boat shoes quiet on the hardwood floors. Most of the training rooms had large punching bags, weights, dummies, and the windows were exposing. He could tire his neck looking left and right for quick glances at occupants.

‘Umph.” He stops a short second before he hit a brick wall, a tall, sweaty brick wall. “Sorry Sorry.” Eye contact, he found, was difficult versus this tall man who’s exposed head shone under the light. 

“You lost?” Large inked painted arms are crossed.

He refused to be intimidated, he’s dealt with gym junky students as large as this man who come running at the end of the semester for half a point bump up. “Well I suppose, maybe you can help me, I’m Bilbo Baggins, well Dr. Bilbo Baggins, and I’m here to drop off lunch.” He holds up a large tote bag. “For Thorin, who is-“

“Baggins,” The hulk interrupted, his eyebrows lessening in weight, just a tad. “Yeah, this way.”

And Bilbo got a bit more of a power walk in keeping up with his acquired guide as he is led further down the long hall. Must be a popular place in the city if it had this much space.

They stop at the final room to the left. Grunts could be heard, and Bilbo sees a dark haired young man, couldn’t be more than sixteen, punching swift, untamed and uncoordinated at some padded slab thing being held by his boyfriend (That sounded so childish. Lover? Maybe lover sounded more professional mature, but not quite there yet.). Thorin was a stone against the blows, bared arms hardly strained, and his face a locked box with no key.

Until the key is found.

“Thorin, you bastard, you have fancy lunch bein’ delivered while lettin’ the rest of us order Gio’s greasy cardboard pizza.” His guide cursed in what he hoped was good nature.

Thorin nods at his student and the punches stop, the teen heaved a few breaths and stretched, sweaty face looking relieved.

And the mask was broken when Bilbo waved a tiny arc.

“I thought you liked Gios. You always suggest it Dwalin.” Thorin said. It was a pleasing sight to watch tall lean muscle walk over to Bilbo, his target.

Thorin didn’t stop until Bilbo could smell the hint of soap and salt. “So what’d you bring me?” The boxer reached to take the bag but Bilbo pulled it away.  
“That wasn’t a proper greeting at all. I’m afraid I can’t tolerate such rudeness.”

Thorin tried to reach again but Bilbo switched hands. Finally the dark haired man said, with a little smile “Sorry. Hi.”

“That’s a bit better. Now I did pack a lot-“

“Are you staying?” He was interrupted and it forced him to glare up. Thorin’s face is stubborn and unmoving.

“Did you think I’d just drop off the food, like a delivery boy in a nice cardigan and leave?” He was aware they were being watched by the other two room occupants but he’s grown too accustomed to their banter.

Thorin turned, “I’m going out.” And he put a hand on the small of Bilbo’s back to led them away.

“Ah- Thank you for your help,” Bilbo called over his shoulder to the bald man, Dwalin, he guessed.

 

“Thank you for bringing me lunch,” Thorin said as Bilbo laid out the containers. It was a ritual, Thorin would thank him and they’d have pleasant conversation, and Bilbo would try to control the bubbles rapidly firing in his torso.

He smiled, “You’re welcome, now I couldn’t really decide on what was best, so I brought more tarts, strawberry this time, and I may have over packed those- there’s about ten- and I made subs I hope you like it, I didn’t heat anything up because I didn’t know if you had a microwave, do you have one?”

“Yes.”

“Ok future reference then, anyways, I also brought some iced tea, I sweetened yours because you love an overload of sugar, and I think I brought some fruit as well, assortment.” Two blue containers, two green, and two mugs, one big red container, they fit neat as cubicles together on the table surface. 

“Well, then let’s eat,” Bilbo found he smiled through the entire lunch date, like a loon, only it wasn’t stretched but enough to make his cheeks sore. It only helped Thorin in his own moody way was equally as jovial and drove the conversation.

Thorin swallowed a handful of blueberries. “What are you doing Friday night?”

“Nothing, so far.”

“I want you to come to my match.”

Bilbo gulped missing out on the sweet taste of the couple of blueberries he picked out of the plastic. “M-Match, as in your boxing match?”

“You wouldn’t have to pay, I just would like you to be there, you could even meet me before the match, then I would have one of my family members, or friends, meet you and you’d sit by their side so you’re not with the rest of the crowd, you’d have a decent box, and-“ For once his stoic companion was on a ramble. It was interesting to watch the words unfold, he didn’t gesture but his eyebrows did dip in concentration.

Bilbo held up his hand and Thorin slowed his speaking. “You mean you want me to sit with your family? Who I haven’t met yet?”

“I understand it’s a little backwards, but no matter the outcome they hold a little party afterwards and I would like to introduce you to them then.”

Bilbo chewed on his bottom lip, and ignored the eyes that burned into his silence, waiting for an answer. 

“It is very backwards of you, and it’s going to be very awkward for me.” He narrowed his eyes when Thorin opened his mouth. “But, I will go.” His shoulders didn’t relax any further, his chest felt very tight. The introvert in him is saying ‘It’s going to be awkward, you’re going to be awkward, you like to stay inside with a book, music and dinner, meet small families, or maybe not at all, you’re a grown man you don’t need to meet the family when you’re not ready.’

He exhaled. “Alright, what time should I be there?” It was worth the smile, it was.  
“Seven, the match starts at eight. Text me, I will meet you.”

“Uncle Thorin.” The boy from earlier interrupted right as Thorin leaned in to kiss Bilbo. “Fili’s just got out of class.”

“I’m coming.” Thorin must have sent the teen a look because the brunette went from an open mouth to say something to turning and walking away. Bilbo appreciated the way the sun played shadows across his companion’s profile, 

\--

He had been right, it had been awkward just getting there. Bilbo hadn’t realized how popular the sport was until he came upon the arena. There were plenty of cars parked early and white lights made the dome building bright in the evening blue.

Compared to the crowd with the t-shirts, faded jerseys, the signs, and the slack clothes. Bilbo had stuck out in his brown overcoat , and a periwinkle cashmere sweater his mother purchased for his birthday.

“Perhaps I over dressed.” He mumbled and he took out his cell phone to scroll through the constant ‘assured’ texts Thorin sent him. 

‘Find the sign to the left, there should be a guard standing there. It’s West Entrance.’

Bilbo diverged from the crowd hands in his coat pockets to keep down the chill evening breeze. Burnt hotdogs and popcorn lingered un appetizing in the air the closer he got to the off white building, and the more nausea that built in his stomach.

He told his name shakily to the two times his size door guard, and was permitted entrance by chance.

“Room 2,” The man monotones, and Bilbo jerked his head in thanks before walking down the lit walls and linoleum floors. He felt a little exclusive when he came upon the holding locker of Room 2. It was open and he could hear two people conversing.

“Remember don’t over do the confidence, Jim Mason hits hard, if you let him-“  
“I know Balin.”

Bilbo stepped around a couple of empty water containers, and a fallen roll of some tape, or gauze maybe. He knelt to pick it up.

“Then stand still quit pacing.” The other voice sounded accustomed to whatever was happening.

“Where’s my tape?” Thorin growled.

Bilbo stepped around the corner of the blue lockers “Um, is this it? I found it on the ground,”

“Bilbo.” Thorin moved from a rather short man with a closer white beard and a pleasant open face. By arms length the boxer reached and plucked the tape out of Bilbo’s hand.

Then the distance is closed by another linoleum tile.  
“I’m glad you came.”

Bilbo’s hands were back in his pockets to limit fidgeting. “Yes well you asked me to.” He watched Thorin wrap the material around prominent knuckles. Two blue gloves lay on a low brown bench, the man across form him wears only blue shorts littered with brand names Bilbo vaguely is familiar with and a dark blue silk robe. He looked like boxing royalty, with his hair tied up tight exposing regal arched eyebrows and a familiar habitual frown. 

Once the knuckles were wrapped large hands rested on his shoulders.

“I’m told a kiss before a match is good luck.” The squat elder man said from behind them. 

Bilbo flushed and tried to count the neat shoelace crossings on his casual brown shoes. They were his father’s at some point and passed to him, for ‘high quality Italian make is like perfumed red wine’.

“Balin-“ Thorin’s voice held a warning, and his hands slipped down to Bilbo’s biceps.

The blond cut in for Thorin’s attention again. “I have to say I don’t know what to expect but either way,” The professor leaned up and kissed Thorin’s cheek. “Good luck.”

Was that too much? Or too little, the panic fluttered in little pangs, but he guessed it was right enough because Thorin looked rather pleased.

“Lad you’re match is starting, come Mr-“ The elder’s smile even gave Bilbo reassurance.

“Baggins, Bilbo Baggins.”

“Nice to meet you I’m Thorin’s coach Balin Fundinsun, anways why don’t you meet my brother, he’s rather large with a couple tattoos hard to miss, he can lead you to the family seating. You’ll have a pretty good view from there.” Balin winked, and Bilbo just glanced back at Thorin.

The boxer removed his hands, and the loss of warmth was evident. “It will be fine, meet me outside after, wait for me it shouldn’t take long to go to my families place.”

Thorin had more confidence in his right fist than Bilbo did in his entire body.

“Al-Alright.” Bilbo is a pessimist by nature and all he sees is Thorin escaping with a swollen face, a broken nose, as many more scars line his body, and the cleanup happening leaving Bilbo cold outside waiting and at a loss.

He’s done the research for his writings before on certain ‘brutal’ hand-to-hand combat injuries, all it takes is the wrong blow.

Dwalin met Bilbo in a black tank and with more than a few tattoos. It was comical how opposite he was from Balin, even in personality. He didn’t greet Bilbo, just recognized him enough to lead him to a row with a rather good-looking family. The brunette from the training room the other day, a voluptuous woman with the same elegant nose as Thorin and brow, and she was in jeans and a t-shirt that had a simple white outline of a mountain. The longhaired teen was leaning into the woman as if clinging on purpose to annoy her, and beside him was a young man with gold hair, and soft blue eyes. They all had hair that draped their shoulders.

“This is-“ Dwalin had begun before one of the teens cut in.

“Uncle Thorin’s boyfriend! I saw you at the gym the other day, he has Uncle on a tight leash with those manners and stuff.” 

“I was going to give the introduction.” Bilbo heard Dwalin grumble behind him.

“I’m Dr- I mean Bilbo Baggins, nice to meet you all.” He wanted to bow but that didn’t seem right, and there was no place for handshakes, and he could feel those beautiful faces watching him judging his appearance. Must they all be so good looking? Maybe he should apply for membership at that gym so they wouldn’t see his little pouch of a stomach and think Thorin should be with a buxom woman with plump bowtie red lips.

“Dís, pleasure to meet you, these are my sons” The corner of the woman’s painted fuchsia lips curved upwards.

“Fili,-“

“Kili-“ Both spoke over each other in a rush to get their names out.

“Sit, next to Fili, my husband is coming back with food. Did you want anything? I could send him back.”

“I’m fine.” His smile felt strained. Bilbo sat in the blue plastic seat, he took in the high gate, and cage like(But it seemed with softer walls) ring no more than a dozen feet away. The stadium is full up the elevated seats that climb the domed building.

Dwalin nods at them a dismissal and walks away. 

“So Mister Baggins, how did you meet Thorin?” Bilbo tore his eyes away from the monstrous size of the building to Dís. He swore her sons leaned a couple inches closer to him.

“We met at Stardust Lounge, a few weeks ago, about five by this point.” He wrung his hands on the material of his coat, stretching the nice thick fabric. It was getting hot in the arena, he should probably remove it.

“Well that matches up with his story at least I know he’s actually paying attention- Cirian don’t spill the drinks now.” 

Another blond has appeared this one with short curly hair, he was tall and expression cheery. He had the same dark shirt with the mountain on it.

Maybe Bilbo could get one, if he enjoyed this experience. If he didn’t he could claim Masters student harassment, out of town, the flu, for every match until whenever the competition or cup or whatever was over.

His blood pressure just couldn’t handle the anticipation.

“Don’t order so much then.” The man scooted past Bilbo and to the far left seat by his wife. “Fili, Kili, popcorn, soda, Twizzlers for me, and slushie for you honey. Please don’t knock it on me this time.”

“Oh hi, new guy, you must be Bilbo,” This one holds out his hand for a gentlemanly hand shake, which Bilbo returns. “Firm grip, must be a keeper.” Cirians laughs until his belly is jabbed by his wife. Bilbo flushed.

 

A boom of words vibrated against his eardrums. Both brother’s are rapt to looking forward. The fighters come out from either side. Thorin is lit up by flashes that reflect on the creases of his robe, the back as the same symbol as his family’s.

“Welcome to the 20th LMC semi-finals, we have two powerful fighters tonight.”

“Thorin ‘Oakenshield’ Durin, standing six foot three, two hundred and fifteen pounds, at 18 wins no losses, three championships.”

A winner, well that made Bilbo feel moderately better.

“And “Jim “’Big Foot’ Mason standing six foot four, two hundred and seventy pounds, at 15 wins, one draw, and one loss.”

“But you have to lose sometime,” he murmured as the crowd shook. “Shut up Baggins don’t be a downer, that is no way to talk.”

“What was that?” One of Thorin’s nephews attempted to shout over the crowd, Bilbo shook his head to drop the subject.

 

The referee spoke fast, something about touching gloves and when he steps in they stop, and that left Bilbo a little relieved, he tried for research and just watching the matches made him uncomfortable. 

Thorin circled his opponent, they reach out it’s all a tentative dance. Maybe a little silly and graceful if it didn’t involve physical contact.

Thorin’s family was roused with the crowd, next to him Fili (The one with the blond hair, he had to remind himself for their names were too alike.) yelled around a mouth full of yellow popcorn.

Thorin got a couple hits in on his opponent, for someone so tall, and built.

Snap, both fighters are on the ground grappled after two hits, and Thorin straddles on top, but the opponent breaks free.

Thorin is the first to stand, ready.

The clock says three minutes left for the round. Already?

How could the others enjoy this so much? He clenched tighter at the buttons the more hits that were exchanged. None to the face yet, but there were swift kicks. Bilbo is nudged in his side, he looked at his attacker, though his eyes darted back to the match.

“Relax, it’s a part of the sport, loosen up.” Fili said with a gesture of his palm, he snatched the red bucket of popcorn from his brother mid chew and held it out for Bilbo.  
“Just a couple.” Bilbo reached in as the blond beamed and encouraged more.

One minute left and two grapples later the opponent, Mason, moved slower and Bilbo had taken the popcorn in his lap completely. 

His eyes hardly blinked the entire time as he watched the glistening tattoos, the growing red marks on tanned skin, and Thorin leaped forward a jaguar, and landed several hits to the face.

Bilbo had gone deaf in the ears from the cheers mixed with the match bell. The clock paused, the referee raised hands, and Thorin stood up from his opponent, a few strands from his bun slipped free.

Oh wait, Thorin won. Bilbo stood up almost spilling what was left of his popcorn, and clapped with the bucket in his arms.

“Oakenshield is going to match two of the semifinals everyone!”

Bilbo’s shoulders relaxed easy and he almost forgot what followed. 

He waited outside the building as the chatter of the crowd trailed out to their cars, excitement, and disappointment for some, must still be in their veins. Bilbo wanted to harness it and eradicate his nervous energy that had him ruin his long sleeves. Half an hour passed.

“Sorry, I had to talk about after match and do a few press things, quick things. I figured you wouldn’t like all the lights, and noise.” Thorin said now in a t-shirt and dark jeans, Bilbo took deep breaths.

“I’m fine, I’m just glad you won that.” Bilbo accepted the quick hug he was pulled in to. He wished the heat lingered.

“Did you doubt me?” Thorin smirked as they began to walk to a back area parking garage. The rubble scraped under his shoes, beer bottle tops and even squashed cans were strewn along the soft dark grass. The light of the moon, building and lamp posts tricked the night away to a dull blue. They walk a little separate, much to Bilbo’s disappointment, but he was still too jittery to remedy it.

“Not for a second.” Bilbo said eyes on the beer can he kicked out of his path.

 

When they said after match celebration they meant a nice middle class house filled with strangers who were all familiar except for one. And that one happened to be Bilbo, he was directed from place to place and his memory really tested by names. 

There was hat man, a man who leered at him and took his wallet as a ‘joke’, Dwalin, Balin, two brothers also with rhyming names and seemed to also be sponsors, a young teen who complimented his sweater (Oh no he is not resorting to hanging out with a teenager he will be a wallflower if he has to.), a man with a big scar and stony disposition, a portly man from the café he visited the other day, and he felt like he was spinning around and around with ‘Hellos’ ‘Yes I’m Bilbo’ ‘Ha ha, no I don’t drink beer much’ he had a draft in his hand anyways ‘Yes it was a good match’- said with a tight smile-. 

The man who took his wallet was blunt enough to say the truth at least.

“This him?” He had asked Thorin, not Bilbo. “He’s different.” The final word was scoffed, a shared joke that left the subject out.

Who is he different from? Past relationships of course, but with who?

He had to stop himself in one of the darker corners of the house, and lean a hand on the stand there. He couldn’t even eat from all the moving and he just wasn’t ready to dive back in. 

At least Thorin was distracted, but he didn’t want him to be. He wanted to be safely under a cerulean gaze with a heavy arm around his shoulders. But he was feeling very much like an item at the moment and he wished for quiet instead.

Maybe he should walk home, the bus stop isn’t far, forget the ride offered by Thorin he could slip out, say he had a headache.

Bilbo started to wander around the more shadowed area, pacing the long way back around through to the kitchen and then the dining room where card games were being held.

“He won’t be able to handle it.” Dwalin grunted as Bilbo came up to the kitchen. The blond paused, he knew who was being talked about.

“You don’t know that.” Thorin retorted.

“Dís says he couldn’t handle half the match.” Pang, a rip through a carefully threaded piece of him. 

“She said she liked him.”

“Doesn’t mean-“

Bilbo turned around to walk the other way. 

“I’m done talking about this, don’t scare him off, I like him a lot more than any of your words can deter.”

Warmth pooled at the bottom of Bilbo’s belly, but he went to the living room, where the younger ones were playing on some videogame on the screen. He sat in the black leather sofa chair, beer still in hand, and tapped his fingers on the arm with no conversation to keep him busy.

He liked Thorin a hell of a lot, too much right now if he’s feeling this rejected. 

A shadow falls over him before the words hit his ears.  
“Hey, it’s getting late, do you want to go?” Thorin was leaning over the back of the chair, his elbows rested on the top of it. Bilbo looked up right into blue eyes and Fili yelled ‘In your face, King Fili wins again!’

“I don’t want to make you leave early.”

“They can go for hours, we’ve done our celebrating, come on a car ride wasn’t enough time together.” Thorin whispered closer to the shell of Bilbo’s ear, his long hair brushed like a sheet against Bilbo’s face.

“Alright, only because you asked nicely.”

“Ew no makeouts during Super Smash Bros.” Kili stuck out his tongue when he drew the adults attention.

“Leave them alone, you’re just mad you haven’t won yet.” Ori, the wiry one with the neat brown hair smacked Kili’s knee.

 

\---

 

Thorin stayed the night again. And they were half naked wrapped in Bilbo’s soft yellow sheets, the professor’s back against Thorin’s chest. 

“You never seem to leave,” he joked.

“Maybe I don’t want to,” the fighter traced his hand down Bilbo’s side to his hip.

“You said you were sore from the fight.” Bilbo gasped when a warm pair of lips sucked at the crook of his neck.

Teeth nibbled a little at the skin before releasing. “No, you told me I must be sore so we should go to bed and spoon like sensible older men.”

“You agreed, I stand by my decision.” Biblo pretended to be exasperated when Thorin rested his chin in the same crook he just kissed, “Tomorrow, definitely.”

“I have to training, and then I train Kili it’ll be a long day.”

“Then I may give you a massage before hand, I’m good at those, I got a license in a bout of spontaneous life choices.”

“I’m interested.” The beard tickled his neck when his boyfriend spoke, but he couldn’t bring himself to laugh.

"They don't like me much." Bilbo confessed to his eyes one the clock on the night stand. 2:30 am, glowing and more artificial than the white mist of moonlight that peeks from his curtains.

“Trust me, they liked you enough for the first meeting.” Thorin said after a pause. Bilbo held Thorin’s hand closer to his chest, and even if they might get too warm by morning time, he had a need to feel every inch of the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed, all mistakes are my own. This is the least run through chapter so I hope it's not too many. I needed to update this first to get back into the flow but my others will be getting updates very soon, I've just been pretty busy with drawing before a convention.
> 
> I love feedback, speculation and ideas and thank you to all who kudo'ed, commented, and subscribed.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, future chapters will come in the next couple weeks (They will be heavier and probably more explicit), and I think I'm still determining Thorin's fate really. So hold on tight and thanks for reading!
> 
> If you have any questions, comments, or want to just chat post here or find me on tumblr at pandamani I love hearing feedback.


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